


Take It Slow

by Faith in the Fallen (Iturbide)



Series: Second Chances [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Comfort Sex, Foreplay, Frottage, Injury, Kissing, M/M, Nipple Play, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 01:51:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14415090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iturbide/pseuds/Faith%20in%20the%20Fallen
Summary: As he settles into the routine of the Order of Heroes, Chrom is forced to confront his worst nightmare when he sees Robin fall on the field of battle.  Although he sees with his own eyes that the tactician can be restored, that does nothing to put his mind to rest: only Robin can calm him, and he knows well how to soothe the prince's fears...





	Take It Slow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gunhorse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunhorse/gifts).



> So following in the wake of the last Exalted Chrobin one-shot, my friend [Gunhorse](http://gunhorse.tumblr.com) posed an interesting question: even though Heroes can be revived, how would Chrom handle having to see Robin fall in battle in Askr, given what he went through during the battle with Grima? ~~also smut plz~~
> 
> And I do love a good question like that. ;) 
> 
> Something new in terms of breaks! Slashes (/) represent flashbacks, and memories are formatted in all italics. While this isn't quite so extreme as the last entry in this one-shot series, it is still heavy on the NSFW content, so please be warned -- otherwise, I hope you enjoy!

Askr still seemed a strange place to Chrom. With Robin and Lucina safely back at his side, the prince had begun to settle into the routine of the foreign castle, learn his way through the halls and gateways, and familiarize himself with many of the Heroes who had also come to call the palace home. Some were no surprise at all: the Hero-King Marth, who ruled over a unified Altea; the Prophesied Hero Alm, who lent his name to the western continent; and the Legendary Mercenary Ike, who united so many different peoples under his banner. Others had shaken him to the core: Michalis, King of Macedon, who murdered his own sire to ascend the throne; Berkut, Prince of Rigel, who sacrificed his beloved for power rather than forfeit his birthright; and the fell dragon incarnate, stalking in the Askran Summoner’s shadow from within the body of another Robin. 

And as he flashed a grateful smile to that same dragon for striking down a lance-wielding cavalier, he wondered if he shouldn’t be doubting his own sanity. 

“Nice going!” Kiran cheered, patting Grima’s arm. “Sorry about using you for bait, though.”

“Such a weak foe posed little enough trouble,” the fell dragon huffed, wilfully ignoring his torn clothing.

The Summoner rolled their eyes, turning their attention back to the strange device they called a fohn. “Just a little more and we’ll be in the clear.” Humming to themselves, Kiran drew the tip of a finger across the shining surface of the black tile, and the prince wondered anew over the glowing trails that sprang to light on the ground around them. 

Robin wasted no time, lifting his tome and calling forth a flock of blue-black ravens to soar over the crumbling wall ahead. Though he couldn’t see what the tactician was attacking, the yelp he heard from beyond the barrier proved well enough that the spell had struck true. Chuckling to himself, Chrom spurred his mount forward along the shimmering path, offering his hand down to Robin. “Shall we?” he grinned. 

“My hero,” the tactician laughed, resting his fingers in the prince’s palm. Turning back, Chrom gently urged his horse through the overgrown ruins while Grima moved into the place Robin had been--

The sound of crumbling stone rose behind them, along with a sudden curse from the Summoner ahead. “Robin!” they shouted.

The tactician’s breath caught. “Chrom--”

The prince looked back, taking in the shattered wall, the dark-robed mage at the nearest end of the path beyond…

...and the hail of glowing green blades hovering close overhead. 

His heart twisted. Pulling hard on the reins, he desperately tried to turn his horse, drawing the sword sheathed at his side -- but even as he did, the weapons rained down, cutting through the storm of crows and tearing into the man no more than a pace behind, shredding his breath into a ragged cry abruptly silenced as blood splashed across the grass. 

Robin's knees gave way. Chrom reached for him, realizing even as he did the tactician was fading, his body turning insubstantial while he fell, and a wave of horror crashed over the prince as he cried Robin's name.

The tactician did not hear. He was gone, vanished into nothing before he touched the ground, leaving only deep furrows from the spell’s onslaught in the blood-soaked earth as proof he had been with them at all. 

Not again. Gods, no, not again, not again…

Chrom lifted his head, rage burning through his veins. The enemy met his eye steadily, a faint sneer twisting his expression as the prince tightened his shaking hand on Falchion's hilt. The fell dragon stood between them, far closer to the foe, perfectly positioned to strike the mage -- but as Chrom watched, Grima turned to him, offering a subtle nod and stepping aside.

Chrom did not wait for the sparks to guide him. Spurring his mount forward, he cleared the distance at a gallop, lifting his sword high over the startled foe and cutting him down in a single heavy swing that painted a bright arc across the surrounding stones. 

The enemy disappeared before his body could hit the ground. Just as Robin’s had. The prince’s chest tightened as he looked back, a sickening rush of grief drowning the last of his fury. Not again…gods, not again, not when he’d finally found the tactician…

“Hey. Chrom?”

The prince glanced down at the Summoner standing beside him, watching as they rolled a blue orb between their hands. “He's gone,” he breathed. He’d lost Robin again, and his heart tore at that failure: he'd been unable to do anything but watch as the tactician faded away a second time--

“No he's not.”

Chrom started as Kiran touched his hand. “He's okay. Well, he will be. Heroes in Askr aren't gone forever. They might fall, but they can be brought back.”

Robin had said something like that, hadn't he? Briefly, but… “How?” the prince whispered. 

“I'll show you,” the Summoner smiled. As Grima and the princess of Nifl moved to join them, Kiran lifted the strange white and gold weapon they carried, calling forth a glowing gateway and stepping through it into the Askran castle plaza. While the lance-wielding princess left to tend other duties, Chrom joined the fell dragon in shadowing the Summoner's steps through the maze of passages to the infirmary. Kiran knocked politely, but barely paused long enough to hear a response before moving inside the sunny ward, leaving Grima lurking in the corridor while the Ylissean prince followed in their wake. 

Lissa's smile faded when she looked from the Summoner to her brother. “Rough outing?”

“Gronnblade,” Kiran agreed. 

“Ouch,” the cleric winced, gathering up her staff. “Nothing we can't handle, though,” she added, patting Chrom's arm as the Summoner slipped the blue sphere into their divine weapon. “This happens sometimes.”

“You don't really get used to it? But you stop freaking out quite so much,” Kiran explained, turning toward the prince and pointing the instrument at the place just beside him. “See, Heroes here aren’t really gone when they fall in battle, they’re just...okay, I don’t really get it, and nobody else seems to, either, but Breidablik withdraws them from combat into the orb used to summon them. It’s easily transported and impervious to harm, so it protects the Hero until it’s safe to restore them. Then we just do this and…” A soft azure glow gathered around the Summoner, a steady hum filling the air as the device released a blinding light…

…and when he blinked the spots from his vision, Chrom found Robin standing in the place Kiran had fired on. 

His sudden swell of relief evaporated as the tactician slumped against his shoulder. The prince caught Robin up against him, vaguely aware of his sister’s voice and the soothing warmth of her staff's magic seeping through his armor while she tended the tactician’s wounds -- but it was only when Robin’s breath steadied, his weight shifting back to his own feet, that Chrom’s panic began to subside.

“Robin?” he breathed. 

The tactician lifted his head, a weary smile softening his expression. “This isn’t how I’d planned to show you that,” he chuckled. 

The prince choked on a sob at that weak attempt at humor, pulling Robin into a tight embrace -- but the tactician's ragged gasp jarred him back to attention, his grip easing on the trembling body in his arms. “Sorry,” Chrom whispered. “I'm sorry, I…”

“It's alright,” Robin murmured, leaning his forehead against the prince’s brow. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“I’m really sorry about that, Robin,” Kiran mumbled. “I didn’t think they’d break the wall. Probably should have, since we were doing it ourselves, but…”

“It happens to the best of us,” the tactician reassured them gently. “And we suffered no permanent losses. You’ll be more careful next time, I’m sure.”

“I promise,” the Summoner agreed, marking an x over their heart. “Just take it easy for now, okay? We’re all done for the day.”

“Thank you,” Robin smiled. And as Kiran waved and departed, the tactician turned his attention back to Chrom, laying a hand gently on the prince’s arm. “It’s alright. _I’m_ alright,” he murmured.

“You’re sure?” the prince asked, his voice pleading in his own ears as he tightened his grip -- slightly, just enough to feel the solidity of Robin’s body against him. 

“I swear,” the tactician assured him. “Let’s go rest, shall we?”

Chrom nodded into Robin’s shoulder. And yet, he made no move to release the tactician...and Robin did not prompt him, instead slipping his arms around the prince’s shoulders and holding fast. And he was grateful for that: just for another moment, he needed the comfort of that presence, and the reassurance that he’d not been lost again. 

/////

_The vicious blow sent Chrom flying. He landed hard, rolling painfully over the bony plates before slamming into a jutting spine that finally arrested his progress. The prince lay dazed for a moment, staring blankly at the twin figures before him, one looking toward him with anxious concern, the other gritting his teeth as he struggled to remain standing._

_As he buried the point of his sword between the fell dragon’s scales, bracing himself against the blade to regain his feet, the tactician smiled. And then he turned, golden circles blazing around him and a twisting roil of lightning building in his upraised palm._

_Chrom felt his heart twist. “Robin…!? Wait, what--”_

_The wind carried the tactician’s voice back to the prince as he staggered upright. “For once, I’m glad you and I are the same.”_

_“No -- Robin, stop--” he gasped, feeling the plates shift and buckle beneath his feet as he ran toward them._

_“The evils you would visit on this world are unthinkable. But I will see to it that you never threaten it again. For everyone I care for…”_

_“Please, Robin,” Chrom shouted, stretching a hand out to catch the tactician’s wrist even as the man flung his arm wide, sending the spell arcing across the distance to strike his other self in the heart._

_His double’s scream was drowned out by the roar of the dragon beneath their feet. The figure collapsed, dispersing into a dark mist…_

_...and Robin stumbled back into the prince’s arms, his body strangely cold and yielding as Chrom hugged the tactician to his chest. “No -- oh, gods, Robin--”_

_“It’s alright,” the tactician smiled, lifting a chill hand to the prince’s cheek. “Thank you, Chrom. For everything. Tell the others...that my last thoughts were of them.”_

_“Please,” the prince begged, tightening his grip and feeling Robin’s body fading from his grasp like fog. “Please, Robin, PLEASE...”_

_“May we meet again, in a better life,” the tactician whispered, his voice growing distant even as his lips pressed a kiss to Chrom’s forehead. “I love you...”_

_“Robin--”_

_The tactician did not hear. The prince’s embrace was empty, and the howling wind could not fill the silence left in the wake of Robin’s words. “No…” he sobbed, falling to his knees, tightening his arms and only managing to wrap them around himself. “Gods, please ...”_

_But any gods that might have listened gave no answer._

/////

Chrom jerked awake with a gasp, staring into the dark through watering eyes. He struggled for a moment to get his bearings, shivering in a cold sweat as the nightmare grappled with reality: not seething clouds overhead, but a stone ceiling; not intermittent lightning to see by, but the moon shining through open curtains; not rough bone and cold scales beneath him, but soft bedding…

“Chrom?”

The voice made his chest tighten. And when he rolled over, he found Robin sitting up beside him, swathed in his familiar coat, his pale hair gleaming silver in the moonlight as he cupped the prince's cheek. “Are you alright?” the tactician asked. 

He was warm. Robin been so cold in that memory, his skin chill and somehow insubstantial...but the heat of that hand touching his face brought Chrom to tears. Reaching out, he pulled the tactician gently down into the blankets, wrapping his arms around the man and holding fast as he ducked his head against the curve of Robin's neck and shoulder. He could feel the tactician breathing, the easy rise and fall of his chest, the subtle warmth against his scalp as Robin tucked his nose into the prince's hair, and when he tightened his embrace the body in his arms did not give way. 

“I’m here,” the tactician murmured, his fingers smoothing Chrom’s hair. “I’m right here, Love.”

The prince’s breath hitched as Robin’s lips pressed against his forehead. Clutching at Robin’s robe, he nuzzled into the soft folds of the tactician’s hood, feeling the fabric grow damp against his cheek. It was a dream. Just a memory, dredged up from the past. Robin was here, tangible, _real_ , held safe and warm within his arms. Swallowing hard, Chrom lifted his head -- and as he met the tactician’s eye, Robin smiled, leaning close to brush a kiss across the prince’s lips. 

His heart stumbled at that gentle touch. Slipping one hand into the tactician’s hair, Chrom pulled him closer, returning that affection in desperate kind and feeling Robin smile against his mouth. Gods, he’d missed that. For so long, he’d ached for this lean body pressed against him, these deft fingers running across his skin...and as he tightened his arm around the tactician’s waist, he felt Robin nestle closer, one hand sliding across the prince’s shoulders while the other caressed his jaw. They broke apart, briefly, leaving only space enough between them for a mingled breath that warmed his skin; relaxing his hold on the tactician, Chrom slipped his hand beneath the coat--

His fingers met linen bandages. 

He froze, shaking as the memory of the day’s horror overwhelmed him anew: seeing the glowing blades overhead, and failing to protect Robin from the onslaught; watching the tactician disappear again before his eyes, unable even to hold him as he vanished; clinging to Robin long after the Summoner returned him to Chrom’s side, letting go only long enough for Lissa to bind the wounds her staff had sealed but not truly mended…

The tactician lifted the prince’s chin, and Chrom blinked fresh tears from his eyes as he met Robin’s gaze. “I thought I’d lost you again,” he whispered. “You disappeared, and all I could think of was…”

“It’s alright,” the tactician murmured, leaning his forehead against the prince’s brow. “I’m right here. I won’t leave you again -- and even if we’re parted, I’ll always return to your side, My Love.”

The gentle kiss, coupled with those soft words, kindled a familiar warmth in Chrom’s core, finally burning away the cold fear that had so stubbornly clung to him since Robin’s fall. Leaning into that touch, the prince coiled his arm around the tactician’s waist, running his free hand up Robin’s back to settle at his nape. When they at last broke apart, Chrom shifted, trailing kisses along the tactician’s jaw, down his throat, and across his collarbones, smiling as laughter hummed against his lips through the narrow breast.

“I love you, Robin,” he whispered. 

“And I love you,” the tactician returned. His hand drifted down the prince’s chest and stomach, and a murmur of pleasure rumbled through Chrom’s chest as deft fingers stroked his stiffening cock through his smallclothes. “I can touch you, if you want,” Robin chuckled, his breath caressing the prince’s neck. 

“Only if I can touch you, too,” Chrom grinned, his own hand easing down to rub gently at the tactician’s groin. Still soft beneath his undergarments, though that came as little enough surprise. 

The tactician sighed fondly, propping himself up on his elbow. “You don’t have to, you know. I’m not the one who needs it.”

“I want to, though,” the prince smiled. “I like to feel you. And you know I enjoy building you up,” he added, stretching up to nuzzle Robin’s throat. 

“Gods, there is no end to your charm,” the tactician laughed, sifting his fingers into Chrom’s hair. “Alright. If that’s what you want. Just take it slow.”

Beaming, the prince gathered Robin against him, pressing a deep kiss to the tactician’s mouth. He laughed as Chrom’s tongue flirted with his lips -- but he responded in kind, meeting the prince’s quiet fervor with equal enthusiasm. Tightening his arm around Robin’s waist, Chrom let his other hand begin to rove across the tactician’s chest, ever mindful of the tender wounds protected beneath linen bindings...and when his digits stumbled over an exposed nipple among the bandages, he paused, squeezing it gently between his callused fingertips. 

A delicate whine rose in Robin’s throat at that touch. He twisted again, and the tactician broke away, his breath fraying into a gasp. Grinning, the prince pressed a kiss to Robin’s jaw, winding his way down the tactician’s neck and breast to the place where his hand teased...and as his lips took the place of his fingers, the tips of his teeth nipping lightly at Robin’s nipple, he felt the tactician arch within his arms. 

Chrom loved that feeling like very little else. His tongue stroked and lapped as Robin began to squirm, one hand snaring in the prince’s hair, the other sliding across Chrom’s shoulders and clinging fast. In turn, the prince eased his fingers down into the tactician’s smallclothes, feeling his cock twitch and stiffen further at that cautious touch. It was becoming harder to focus on anything beyond the uncomfortable tension building beneath his own stomach, but he couldn’t help but smile as he palmed Robin’s length and felt him begin to seep beneath the attention--

“E-enough,” the tactician gasped. 

Chrom grumbled at the interruption, casting a petulant glance up toward Robin’s face; the deep flush of color in his cheeks mollified the prince somewhat, and he paused a moment to admire the way the silver moonlight muted the color to a rosy gleam beneath the sheen of sweat. Only when the tactician patted his shoulder did he grudgingly withdraw, settling back while Robin sat up and watching -- or admiring, as it were -- as he shed his smallclothes and cast them carelessly aside. That, Chrom would admit, was a fine reason to stop. Discarding his own undergarments, he reached out to pull the tactician back down beside him…

A coy smile cut across Robin’s face as he evaded the prince, moving instead to straddle his thighs. Chrom felt his brows arch in surprise as the tactician settled in, his cock rubbing against the prince’s own with every subtle movement. It was, he would admit, a striking view: the moonlight silvered Robin’s pale hair, shining in stark contrast to the coat that swathed his chest in darkness and obscured the pale linens they both knew hid beneath (but allowing them to forget, if only for a moment).

“Is this alright?” the tactician asked, his voice lightly teasing. 

“This is perfect,” Chrom replied eagerly, beaming as Robin’s warm laughter rang in his ears. Sliding his hands up the tactician’s thighs, he watched Robin’s face as the moon illuminated his smile...but when he reached out to touch their lengths, the tactician only shooed his fingers away. “No?”

Robin grinned, gesturing for him to lay back. Settling obediently, he watched the tactician’s hand wrap around their cocks, his fingers curling lightly and beginning to stroke them both. A low rumble rose in the prince’s throat at that first tentative touch, his lips curving into a smile. “Good?”

“Good start,” Chrom agreed. Robin hummed thoughtfully, shifting his hips very slightly as his hand slid down their lengths; the next stroke was unbearably slow, and the prince twisted his fingers in the bedclothes to keep them still. “More,” he huffed. 

In response, the tactician’s grip instead lightened, slowing the next touch to a maddening crawl. “Not like that,” Chrom groaned. 

“No?” Robin murmured, grinning mischievously down at him before fondling the heads of their cocks. 

“Dastard.”

The tactician feigned offense, lifting his free hand to his breast. “Is that any way to talk to the man who’s getting you off?”

“Yes,” Chrom shot back. 

Robin laughed, his fingers tightening -- and the next firm stroke sent pleasure lancing through the prince, dissolving his breath into a heady groan. He could feel a faint tremor running through the hand that held them, and when he glanced back up, he saw a fresh blush of color in the tactician’s cheeks.

“...b-better?” he managed (and the hesitation assured Chrom that Robin had been planning that simple question before moving, only to nearly lose the word to his own pleasure).

“Much,” the prince chuckled. Smiling slightly, the tactician stroked them again, biting his lip to stifle the warm murmur that rose in his throat. Chrom tilted his head back, closing his eyes and reveling in that touch, that friction, the heat rising as the tension in him built with every stroke…

He felt Robin shift, and lifted his head to see the tactician curling over him, his breath coming in heavy gasps and his fingers twisting in the sheets beside them. Lifting his hand, the prince caressed Robin’s knuckles, feeling the tremor running through them as grip eased...and when Chrom laced their fingers, the tactician’s eyes fluttered open, a glowing smile lighting his expression as he met the prince’s gaze. 

Beaming, Chrom curled his free hand around their lengths, squeezing them still closer together as Robin’s fingers shifted to allow him better purchase. The tactician’s focus shifted higher while the prince took to stroking them -- and as Robin rubbed the heads of their cocks, they both arched into the touch, Chrom’s heady moan underscoring the tactician’s breathless whine.

He couldn’t take much more: the electric pleasure crackling across his skin with every touch wound the pressure into a sweet, sharp ache, and every gasp only stoked the heat between them, feeding the fire burning at his core and making his head swim. Robin’s muted sounds, the deep flush of color in his cheeks, the throb of his length beneath the prince’s fingers, spoke more clearly still of how close he was to his limit...and yet, everything in Chrom yearned to draw this out as long as possible, and he slowed his pace as the tactician’s grip on his hand tightened. 

As Robin curled lower over him, the prince eased himself up, pressing his lips to the tactician’s forehead. “I love you,” he whispered. 

“Chrom--”

Robin’s gasp dissolved into a breathless moan, his back arching as he came; in the same instant, the tension wound so tight in the prince’s core at last snapped and unraveled, his own ecstatic groan rumbling through the air between them. 

For a moment, Chrom did not move. He simply drank in the cold air, savoring the tingling pleasure still rippling across his skin and watching the stars behind his eyelids begin to dim as the fire subsided to a deeper, sweeter warmth. When he finally did open his eyes, blinking to clear his vision, he found the tactician still hovering over him, his disheveled hair sticking to the sweat on his brow and a look of deep satisfaction written across his features. 

The prince saw him begin to sway and sag and barely managed to prop himself up in time to catch Robin against him. Easing them both down into the blankets, he tilted his cheek against the tactician’s forehead, feeling Robin’s slow, steadying breaths pooling in the curve of his shoulder as the narrow frame nestled close and warm against him. “You still with me?” Chrom chuckled, nuzzling the tactician’s pale hair. 

A soft sound rose in Robin’s throat as he slung an arm across the prince’s chest, taking care not to smear the sticky leavings of their climax on Chrom’s skin (not that he would have minded, he mused to himself). “I’m here,” he mumbled, mustering up just enough strength to pursue the prince as he leaned over to tease a handkerchief off the nightstand. “...was...that alright?” he added while Chrom cleaned their fingers. 

Beaming, the prince pressed a kiss to the tactician’s sweat-damp brow. “It was perfect,” he murmured, gathering up the sleepy sprawl of Robin’s body. “Now go to sleep, Love.”

The tactician offered no more than a drowsy sigh in answer. And as Chrom closed his own eyes, savoring the heat and weight of Robin’s body against his own, he felt assured that sweet dreams awaited them both. 


End file.
